


In the Wildwood

by SuicideToro



Series: DGM Big Bang 2018 [1]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuicideToro/pseuds/SuicideToro
Summary: Lavi dances with the fae and dreams about shadows. A fic for D.Gray-Man Bigbang 2018.





	In the Wildwood

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily based on some concepts from the book Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marillier, a book which I adored as a teen. I wanted this to be a one-shot, but it grew into a multi-chapter fic and I was busy for the past few months, so I decided to update in chapters. 
> 
> My collaborator is cherah-art, who has drawn lovely lovely art for this fic! The art will be posted here when the right parts are published. Thanks sweetie!

To play their game, one had to know their rules.

Don’t eat what they offer.

Wear iron.

Cross over before sunrise.

Lavi committed these simple rules to memory. Lived by them, in the most literal sense. He repeated them in his head and glanced nervously at the old clock on the wall. It was already close to midnight. Beyond the misted windows, the full moon peeked from behind the clouds on a star-crusted sky, shy as a virgin maiden on her first night. Lavi’s mind started to wander, soaring over the lake like a bird towards the wildwood on the other side.

“Those logs will not write themselves, boy.”

Lavi was startled out of his reverie. The husky voice of his elderly mentor, Bookman, had broken through the peaceful silence of the study where before only the crackling of the hearth and the rhythmic scratching of quill on parchment had ruled. He turned to look sheepishly at his mentor, who had paused in his work to cast a disapproving glare at his young apprentice.

“Sorry, my mind wandered off for a moment,” Lavi said apologetically. He stretched in his seat and feigned a huge yawn. “I’m sleepier than I thought.”

Bookman returned to his attention to his writing. “Finish the last few days, and you may go to bed.”

Lavi groaned inwardly. He had hoped to cajole the old man into releasing him from his work early. Sourly, he looked down at his logs. They were records of the trip to Siam that he and Bookman had just returned from a week ago. They witnessed the coronation of the new Siamese king and made contact with his scribe, another member of the Bookman clan. Highly sensitive information was traded, and everything had to be penned into logs, the records of all history.

Lavi sighed and squinted down at his open log. His handwriting was scrawled over the page like neat rows of marching spiders. He had been distracted for hours tonight and could make little sense of what he had been writing. He raised his eyes and looked around the room. It was filled with high shelves that towered over him and casted shadows over everything. The aisles between them were shoulder-wide. Other piles of books and logs, dozens of them completed by Lavi himself, sat haphazardly on the floor and under the tables and chairs. The lighting in the room was poor, for Bookman would never allow open flame anywhere near all that paper, so they made do with a glass lamp on the table between them. Lavi rubbed his eyes tiredly and tried once again to concentrate on the political matters of Siam.

Bookman started to cough hoarsely, wheezing as he struggled to draw breath into his lungs. Lavi looked at him in concern and reached over to readjust the heavy woolen shawl on his mentor’s shoulders. The old man had had a few bouts of rather severe illness in the past year, and his mortality frightened Lavi. He preferred not to think about it.

“Maybe we should retire early tonight. old panda,” Lavi suggested.

Bookman looked at him indignantly at first, probably intending to insist that they finish their work first, but the look of serious concern on his apprentice’s face softened him. He got to his feet, wincing at the creak of his ancient bones. “Finish those properly before tomorrow night,” he commanded. “I’ll check.”

“I will, I will. Go to bed, old man,” Lavi replied casually. They parted ways at the corridor and said goodnight. Lavi waited until Bookman had shuffled around the corner before going up to his own small bedroom in the alcove of the house. At last, it was time.

He had prepared ahead of time. A suit of clothes lay waiting on his bed: a clean shirt and a matching pair of dark green vest and breeches, embroidered with veins of red and yellow. He had secretly scrimped and saved for months to afford having it tailor-made down in the village, and they were the best garments he owned.

It wasn’t that Bookman was poor. The Bookman clan provided them the necessary privileges and funds of travelling across the world to record history, and apparently subsidized enough so Bookman could afford to buy a crumbling castle set high on a spur of rock overlooking the dark forest. Lavi had grown up a wanderer, but his heart remained here in Piscul Dracului, or as it was more commonly known, Devil’s Peak. The tract of wildwood surrounding it was dark even on the sunniest days and was the centerpiece of myths and strange tales, local folk dared not venture close to it in fear. Deep in the heart of the forest was the lake. The locals called it the Deadwash, on account that there was a drowning there almost every year. Lavi had his own childhood tale to tell about it. That day, he discovered that the things people had said about the lake were true.

Lavi lit a small lantern on his dresser and dressed himself efficiently. The faint candlelight threw long, stretching shadows across the floorboards. He picked up a small object from a bowl set on the dresser. The iron ring glinted as he slid it into his pocket. He put on a polished pair of black shoes and checked himself in front of his small mirror. A young man with green eyes and fiery hair peered back at him in the half-darkness. Deeming himself ready, he donned his thick brown cloak and brought the shifting light of his lantern towards the most shadowy side of his room. A plain wall stood before him, and he laid his hand on its cool surface.

The entire castle rumbled deep in its walls. Often Bookman would meet Lavi in the morning muttering about the old building about to come down on their heads. The wall shook, and a gaping doorway appeared upon it as if the wall has opened its mouth. Winding stone steps led down into the depths of the Piscul Dracului. Lavi suddenly felt a little tired; the magic always took its toll on him. Nevertheless, the blood rushed in his ears and his body tingled. The portal called to him in an eldritch whisper he could not resist.

Lifting his lantern high, he made his way down the cold flight of steps. The infinitesimal echoes of small rocks falling from under him made him feel like the steps could give way any moment and he would plunge down to his death. Shuddering, he hastened down in a descending spiral of darkness.

Presently, he came to the bottom of the steps. There was a dark tunnel with a doorway at the end of it. Lavi blew out the candle in his lantern and walked on by touching the wall next to him and going by feel. The moss-covered stone slid under his fingertips like velvet. When he passes through the doorway, branches brushed his skin gently. The moon now rose brave and bright above, casting an eerie blue shimmer across the calm waters of the Deadwash before him.

Lavi stepped on the shores of the lake, feeling the crunch of sand and stone under his shoes. A fine mist hung over the lake like a cloak after the sun fell every day. Lavi felt his skin start to crawl. The sooner he got over it, the better. He cupped his hands and called across the lake, “Oooo-oo! Ooo-oo!”

The clinging mist calmly absorbed the sound and waited. After a few moments, a small bobbing light appeared at the far end of the lake. As ghostly as a will o'wisp, it floated towards the shore. Lavi nervously fingered the ring in his pocket, feeling the cold iron to reassure himself. He could never be sure what was coming over the lake until he saw it.

A slender boat emerged from the mist, hardly causing ripples in the bright water. The single hooded boatman on it propelled it forward with a long pole, wielding it with powerful grace. Above the small light on the stern of the boat, Lavi saw and recognized the silhouette of an old friend, and he breathed out a silent sigh of relief. The boat pulled in at the shore, and the figure on it stood stiffly on the sand..

“With what do you pay your fare, visitor?” it asked, its voice clear in this still night.

“My name,” Lavi replied with practiced ease. “My name is Lavi.”

“We accept your offer.”

The figure held out a hand and curled it inwards as though beckoning to him. The Bookman apprentice felt his breath stall in his lungs and his heart stop. Something seemed to leave him, lifting itself off his soul and leaving him with an inexplicable absence inside. He had long since known that this was how it felt like to have the fae take his name. The boatman closed his fist around the name in satisfaction and pointed at him.

“You are Red.”

Red gasped loudly as the air rushed back to him and his heart started beating again, galloping to make up for its brief dysfunction. It has been years, but he would never get used to the sensation. With the initial ceremony completed, the boatman relaxed visibly and threw its hood back. A young human-looking fae with white hair and an ivory mask painted to resemble a clown’s face grinned at Red.

“Felicitations, friend. Hop aboard my steadfast vessel, we ought to be on our way. The night is waiting,” he said. Like most fae, there was power even in his lilting voice, making his every word sound almost lyrical.

Red smiled and grasped the familiar hand proffered to help him on the boat. “Greetings to you too, Allen. You sound more excitable than usual.”

The fae gave him a mysterious smile. “Tell you about it when we get to the other side. Sit tight.”

With a strong push of the pole, the boat lurched forward and glided across the water silently. White, ghostly vapour enveloped them, thicker than it looked from land, and soon Red could not see the shore they had just left behind. It was always cold in the mist, even on the most humid of midsummer nights. He pulled his cloak close around him. It was deadly silent, and the only sounds to be heard were the lift and push of the pole and the water lapping gently against the sides of the boat.

The Deadwash was well-known for being the lake of many deaths and strange incidents, but Red also knew its other names. It was known to some folk as Tǎul Ielelor; Lake of the Nymphs. At Full Moon, the fae called it the Bright Between, where their realm met with the humans’. The Bright Between was different on full moon nights; in Red’s world, the walk down to the lake from Piscul Dracului was much longer. He sometimes went to it alone, sneaking away from the tedious task of recording and writing. In the Other Kingdom, however, time and distance were not what they seemed. Doors that were previously closed opened, and the lake which looked enormous in the light of day was shrouded in mist by night and could be crossed on boat in little more than fifteen minutes.

There were often rumoured tales of what happened to humans who came into contact with the Other Kingdom. Men and women who wandered into the woods at the wrong time could stumble into another realm by accident. Some were said to have dined and danced with the fair folk, and then when they returned to their homes at dawn, they found that hundreds of years had passed, and everyone they knew were dead and gone. Others were said to desire staying in the fairy revels, and their hedonism tore their minds to shreds. Some folk were rumoured to have simply vanished and never returned.

That’s why Red had to keep a strict set of rules for himself. The fair folk made it clear that he was welcome in their realm, but he was smart enough to know that behind every unnaturally beautiful smile was a set of sharp teeth and they could well be trapping him in their world forever. He never faltered from his rules, and they protected him for ten full years of Full Moons.

One of the deadset rules was this: never give them your real name. When one offered their name as payment for the trip into the Other Kingdom, they must not offer their real name, lest the name be taken by the fair folk forever. If you lose your real name, you are but an object, soulless and hollow. Red tried to remember the name he had offered, had always offered. As usual, try as he might, it remained at the tip of his tongue, like the name of an old friend you hadn’t seen in years. The best he could remember was that the first letter was L. It was the name given to him when he joined the Bookman clan, not his name by birth. That name was a secret shared with the old mentor who had raised him and no one else.

As the boat cut through the water, the mist began to clear. The faint, sweet sound of merry music made its way to Red’s ears. Bright coloured lights like will o’ wisps approached the boat and darted around in the air excitedly. Red let them settle on his hair like bugs, creating a multicoloured halo around his head, and when he shook them off gently, they took flight and made swirling patterns in the warming air. Below the boat, luminous orbs of yellow surfaced from the depths of the lake. Red could hardly make out a glowing blue face, but as soon as they appeared, the eyes left. There were many dwelling under the surface of the lake, the nymphs who were the namesakes of the lake. Red had never really seen one up close, but they were rumored to entice unwary visitors with their beautiful faces and lilting voices. If one was too mesmerized, they would plunge themselves into a watery grave in effort to follow the lovely nymphs. As the boat neared the shore, Red could see many other boats of odd shapes and sizes moored on the pearly sand.

They docked on the shore, and Red’s escort leaped nimbly off. He turned and took off his mask. Under it was a young face with a red star above his left eye. The bottom spoke of the star ran over his eyelid and jagged into an ugly scar on his pale cheek. Allen looked young when Red first met him, and now, ten years later, he still looked not a day over fifteen --- a true testament to the fae’s eternal youth. He helped Red off the boat and they stepped onto the sparkling white shore. Together, they headed up a path that lead into the dense forest.

“So, about what you said before we crossed the lake…” Red prodded curiously as they walked under a canopy of branches decorated with coloured lights of odd shapes.

“What was that? Oh yes.” Allen turned a little to Red, a sly gleam in his silver eye. “We have visitors tonight. Night People from the forests in the east, here to visit the Earl.”

Red paused in his tracks. “Night People?” he repeated in horror.

“Oh, don’t get all a-quiverin’ about it, there’s nothing to worry about,” Allen replied offhandedly.

Red gritted his teeth and forced himself to walk alongside the fae. His mind was reeling from the visitation of the Night People. He heard the rumours about them, the tales about dark creatures that snuck into humans’ houses and drained their blood to the last droplet. Folk who appeared to be at the peak of health and rose from their beds looking pale and hollow the next morning attributed their lethargy to the Night People. They were symbols of bad omen and dark violence. Nervously, Red made sure the protective iron ring was still safely in his pocket. He couldn’t even remember if iron was said to ward off the Night People in those terrible tales. He knew that he was a welcomed visitor in the realm of the fae, but he could not trust them to protect him from other visitors that wished to harm him. The fae were known to be capricious, friendly one moment and deadly the next. If he didn’t protect himself, he was doomed to the same fate of those humans who lost themselves in the magical realm. He made a mental note to make his stay tonight shorter than it normally would be.

As they went further down the path, the music got louder and began to mingle with the growing sounds of laughter and talking. It was a perfect harmony of drums, flute, fiddle and goat-pipes, blending wondrously together to make a tune that made Red’s blood rush in his ears and his body itch to move. His fingers twitched in tandem to the music as they approached the dancing glade.

A circle of tall autumn-clad trees bearing luminous lanterns towered over the glade and opened up to the skies on which the full moon hung. Loose leaves of brown, red and gold cascaded over brightly clad revellers who pranced and skipped to the fast jig being played by a band of dwarven musicians standing on large tree stumps. Beautiful gems, wings and fabrics flashed like a dizzying kaleidoscope in the midst of the dancers. Some of them were tall and almost gargoyle-like, their feet thumping the grassy ground hard enough to make it shake; others were tiny, dancing in the trees like so many fireflies.

To one side of the glade, long tables laden with mouth-watering food were surrounded by chattering and feasting guests. The smell of succulent meat roasted to perfection wafted through to Red, causing his stomach to rumble a little. Grapes bursting out of their skins, golden apples and slices of sweet pears were piled upon silver plates. Chalices of sparkling fruit drinks were conveniently placed on every table, always within reach of the guests, enticing them to take and take and take. There were tales about how you could eat fae food for hours and never feel the least bit full; that was what caused human visitors to stuff themselves to death.

A hand clasped on Red’s shoulder, startling him. His boatman gestured towards the food. “Now that I’ve fulfilled my ferrying duties, I’m going to feast before I join the dances. Enjoy yourself!” Allen patted him on the shoulder and hurried off to the banquet, where he began to pile large servings of stuffed turkey onto a plate. Red forced his eyes away from the tables and focused on the dancers.

As soon as he was spotted, many familiar fae called out greetings to him, even as they twirled in their dance without pause. Throughout the years of Full Moon visit, Red had become a friend to some of them. One in particular, a lean fae with long, dark green hair in pigtails and a pair of glowing green chitlin legs, broke off from her dancing circle and approached him.

“Red!” she called out breathlessly. “A little late tonight, aren’t you?”

“Hello, Lenalee.” Red stepped forward and embraced her, relaxing a little at her familiar sweet scent. “Bookman made me finish most of my logs, so I had to work a little longer. Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?”

The pretty fae tittered. “I thank you, young one, your tongue is as silver as ever. May I have the honour of partnering your first dance of the night?”

Red grinned and took her dainty hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Lenalady,” he replied winsomely.

They went straight into the dance, plunging themselves into the crowd and immersing into a skipping jig as if stepping into another world. Red’s caution was all but cast away into the wind; he danced until he forgot who or where he was, all he knew was where to put his feet and when to spin and sway to the music, going faster, faster! He lacked the supernatural poise and grace of his limber fae partner, but his dancing had a subtle wildness that drew eyes to him. His red hair flashed like fire as he lead Lenalee through the fast-paced steps. All too abruptly, the music came to an end, and Red came to a flushed, panting stop whereas his partner easily sashayed into a final pose without a single hair out of place.

“You’re amazing at this, as always,” Red wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

Lenalee smiled at him sweetly. “All it takes is hundreds of years of practice, you know,” she said with a casual shrug.

“I don’t think I will ever be as good as you, even after a hundred years.” Red wiped his sweaty brow and looked around the glade. “Where are the Night People? Allen mentioned that there are some visiting tonight…”

“Oh, you won’t see them until the Earl makes his appearance. Speaking of the devil...”

The crowd stirred and parted like rushes, clearing a path in the center of the glade. A whispering hush fell over them as a tall, rotund goblin-looking character with gray skin and a wide eerie grin strode confidently through. He was the Earl of Millenium, the ruler of the fae and the host of the party. He looked like a grotesque parody of a Victorian gentleman, wearing a tall top hat, a large buttoned coat and round spectacles. His walking cane was an umbrella with a pumpkin on top of it, and the orange face leered at everyone as the Earl passed. One step behind him was a sombre group of unfamiliar individuals.

The Night People were beautiful, more beautiful than Red had imagined. He had expected them to have waxen skin and red eyes, but their skin was exotically dark, almost ash-grey in tone, and their eyes glowed amber. A neat line of black crosses adorned their foreheads. They were all dressed in black garments made of a fabric so dark that it seemed to absorbed light. Like attendees of a funeral procession, they trailed silently behind the Earl, very much out of place under the bright lights of the glade. The couple who seemed to be leading them was exceptionally exquisite; the woman had an hourglass figure that filled out her black dress wonderfully, and her face was born of a wet dream. Her partner was tall and handsome in his swallowtail coat, cut trousers and riding boots. The man casually swept his long black curls back and looked around.

His amber eyes alighted on Red and widened. Immediately afterwards, they slitted in amusement, and the man’s mouth quirked. Red blinked and hastily shifted backwards, letting the crowd step forward to shield him from the man’s imploring gaze.

Several of the fae were introduced by the Earl to the Night People, who responded with perfect but stiff courtesy. After that, the Earl waved for the musicians to start playing again. He was a mysterious ruler, hosting many parties but never staying for longer than a while. He took his leave with the Night People, and the dark-skinned people melted into the shadows of trees like ghosts. Only the leading couple remained, clearly more used to mingling with other fae folk.

A female fae with butterfly wings tapped on Red’s shoulder and asked for a dance. They stepped into the sward and danced to the brazen music. Red quickly forgot about the Night People, he danced and laughed heartily when his partner sneezed, raising a puff of fairydust glimmer in the air. When the music ended once again, he politely complimented her dancing and let her be whisked away by a new dance partner. No sooner than he turned that he saw a pair of dark blue eyes, watching him from the shadows.

It was one of the Night People, but it was apparent that the blue-eyed one was different from them. He had their regal, beautiful facial features, but his were softer and slightly fuller. His skin was pale, paler than Red’s, and his ebony hair fell in a straight sheaf down to his waist. His sapphire eyes that seemed to bore into Red’s core in their intensity.

Red’s breath caught in his throat. He was simultaneously intrigued and afraid; he knew not why the stranger would be looking at him, but being the only human at a faerie party was not a good thing to be. He turned sharply, intent on escaping the piercing stare of the man, but someone was standing directly in front of him. He looked up and saw the man from the couple before. The handsome man gripped Red by the shoulder to prevent a collision between them and smiled winsomely down at the human.

“Well now, look at what I’ve caught tonight. I have never seen a human so young at a party like this… The Earl is a most generous host.”

Red fought down a shiver running up his spine. The man’s hands were as cold as a long-dead corpse’s. Red cast a quick glance around him; both Allen and Lenalee were at far ends of the glade, and everyone else was drunk on wine and dance. Not wanting to draw more attention to himself, he took one step backwards and tried to maintain a semblance of calm courtesy. “I’m terribly sorry for my clumsiness. Indeed I have the Earl to thank for his hospitality, but dawn is nearing and I have to depart soon, please excuse me…” He tried to step pass the man, but those hands kept their firm grip on him, preventing any chances of escape.

“Nonsense, the night is still young,” said the dark man with a quiet, triumphant tone. “Will you not dance again? I saw you just now…” He raised his hand and boldly tilted Red’s chin up. “With hair and eyes like these, you look more fae than some of us. Won't you stay and entertain us, pretty thing?”

Lavi grimaced from the pain of his face in the man's grasp. His heart raced in mortal fear as he stuck his sweaty palm into his pocket and gripped the iron ring anxiously, a moment away from putting it on...

A pale hand shot out and pulled the dark man’s arm away. Red stumbled away and turned around. It was the pale man with the long dark hair and sullen face, the one who had watched Lavi from the shadows of the trees. At this distance, he looked young, just around Red’s age. His dark eyes were afix on his leader’s.

“Maybe we shouldn’t overstep our boundaries here, Mikk,” he said softly, venom dripping in his voice.

Mikk glared back at him, his annoyance at being interrupted only thinly veiled. “Maybe you shouldn’t overstep yours, Kanda,” he hissed.

The younger man immediately pulled his hand back, his face contorting in a controlled look of pain. Red looked back and forth between them, tense with fear. The female leader of the Night People appeared beside her partner and cast him a look of masked disdain.

“Hello love,” she said with a cold smile, linking her arm with the man’s. “I trust you have been lying low, as we have all agreed to do?”

Sensing her wrath, the tall male sighed and turned to her. “Yes my dear, I’ve been a good boy. I was just having a small chat with this... “ he cast Red a sardonic glance, “Unusual guest, that is all.”

The woman gave him a pleasant smile and lead him back to the party. Her lingering icy glance on Red informed him that she did not like him any more than he liked her. As soon as the couple left, Red heaved a huge sigh of relief and relaxed minutely. He turned to the young man, who was watching the retreating backs of his leaders with clear hatred. Out of the shadows, he really just looked like a very pale human, albeit a very handsome one. Red had barely opened his mouth to speak when a second pair of hands grasped his shoulders and whirled him around.

“Hey Red, perhaps it’s time you headed home, yes?” Allen asked him with a huge grin. The fae looked pass him and glared daggers at the young man, who was already retreating wordlessly back to the shadows, eyes on the ground.

“I just wanted to--” Red began to call out, but Allen shushed him and bodily hauled him away towards the forest path leading to the lake.

Once they were alone, the white-haired fae looked at Red with disbelief. “I cannot believe how stupid you are, boy. Out of all the us, you want to mingle with the Night People? Do you have a death wish, hmm? Would it not be easier to just stuff your face with our food, hmm?”

Red flushed slightly and walked quickly down the path. “I wasn’t mingling with them. Their leader, the tall man, was scaring me, and the younger one just helped me, that was all.”

“Did he touch you?” Allen looked over and saw the telling bruises on Red’s jaw. His gray eyes darkened. “Bhastaird... I’m sorry that you have been ill-treated on my watch. You’re a guest in our realm and my ward. I should have been more watchful.”

“It’s alright, Allen. He didn’t really hurt me.” Red paused in the middle of climbing back onto the boat. “Don’t tell the Earl about it though. I don’t want him to think I’m causing any trouble with the Night People,” he said gently.

Allen grumbled under his breath, but nodded. They boarded the boat and sailed silently over the Bright Between once more. The nymphs watched from below the water, accompanying his journey across the lake. Overhead, the skies were beginning to lighten; dawn was creeping up the horizon. The white expanse of the shore swelled up to greet them, and Red hopped off the boat. He turned back to the boatman expectantly. Allen held out a clenched fist towards him.

“Your journey is complete,” the fae chanted ceremoniously, “I return you from whence you came, and return your name to deliver you from harm. Your name is Lavi.”

Lavi gasped, suddenly feeling fuller and heavier, as if he had just eaten a hearty meal. Lavi, his name was Lavi. He remembered it now. He was Lavi. The name settled into his mind, an old memory coming home, leaving him feeling sleepy and content. He could not remember bidding the boatman goodbye, walking up the winding steps to his room or climbing into bed, but the moment his head touched the pillow, he was asleep.

In his dreams, he danced with a shadow that had only piercing eyes and a pair of pearly, gleaming fangs.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you like my writing, please consider talking to me, making a small donation to help me through art college, or looking at the merch I make for DGM (I have Lavi and Laviyuu goodies in my shop!) :)
> 
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